


The Unraveling of John Watson

by Scriptor



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Sherlock Being a Tease, Top John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4502709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriptor/pseuds/Scriptor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has moved back into 221B after the dissolution of his marriage and Sherlock aims to undertake his biggest experiment yet: seduce his flatmate/best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gather Data; Make Inferences

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, be gentle; first Sherlock fic. Mature for later chapters. Sort of beta'd. More chapters coming soon!

Sherlock had noticed long ago – maybe as early as the first week that John Watson moved in with him– that his blogger was a highly visual person. John always looked intently at people when he spoke to them, probably a product of his military service; an act of deference, respect. Sherlock also deduced this from his moderate porn addiction, which he had catalogued unbeknownst to John as often as it happened, in the night when he heard the unmistakable sounds coming from his flatmate’s bedroom. This both bewildered and intrigued him.  It was not every night, but it was usually after a date wherein John came back home early or - obviously – did not bring said date back to the flat. Of course, he also perused his browsing history and observed the type of porn John liked to watch. It wasn’t all straight action; oftentimes he actually watched “films” that attempted to have “plot.” Fascinating; his blogger was such a romantic, it sometimes scared him.

Sherlock had also noticed over the years the way, in conversation, John’s gaze roamed from his eyes to his lips. Sometimes John only looked at Sherlock's mouth; sometimes then licking his own lips and averting his eyes quickly. Just that afternoon they had engaged in a brief conversation about the details of Sherlock’s current case: a sordid affair between two men and a woman, all three involved in British Government in some way. As Sherlock explained some of the more lurid actions, John was most definitely intent on Sherlock’s mouth and as soon as he himself realized it, he bolted up out of his chair and left the room. At that moment, Sherlock solidified an idea for an experiment. John hated when he did his little experiments using him as a subject but this had gone on long enough.

Besides, their intent gazing had become even more intense in these weeks since John moved back in following the tragedy that was the Watson/Morstan marriage. Sherlock assumed he was just feeling starved for attention but he was going to put some things together and collect some data, tally some results.

Sherlock was well aware that their senses and emotions ran high after having solved a case; his especially. So he planned to initiate “Unnerve Dr. John Watson” immediately following their next high-stakes case.

The pair exited a cab after having chased a midget all over London, finally cornering him in a biker bar where the displeased patrons made short work of the thief. They walked into 221b and shut the door, both breathing heavily and laughing. “Second midget! How is that even possible?” John asked, amused. He dropped his coat on the back of his chair and walked to the fridge, retrieving a bottle of water and chugging. Soon after, he got the fire going. Winter in London was a dreadful time of year.

“I have no idea.” was Sherlock’s reply.

Under usual circumstances, performing came easily to him; he could take on a persona at the drop of a hat but he found himself a little nervous this time. His curiosity always got the better of him so he committed to his little plan. This had been knocking around in his head for some time but he remembered the exact moment when the decision was made. John had been moved back into 221b for one full week when Sherlock accidentally walked in on him in the bathroom, having become accustomed to living, sadly, alone. The shock and sheer surprise on both their faces when a partially dressed Sherlock came face to face with a stark naked John became a palpable heat as neither moved for quite some time. “Could you please grant me just a tiny bit of privacy, Sherlock?” John said, very calmly around the toothbrush in his mouth.

His towel was slung over his shoulder but not a bit else was covered. Sherlock could do nothing but stare. He’d done this before, surprisingly enough – walk in on John – but there had been an unspoken tension after the Mary incident. There was a relinquishing of egos; Sherlock was right all along and John was defeated in his attempt at normalcy. They tried to cobble together some semblance of domesticity but still, something bubbled just under the surface between both men. As Sherlock peeled his eyes away from his army doctor and slowly slunk out of the doorway, a new sort of feeling bloomed deep within. He acknowledged it as not entirely new, per se, but tinged with a new light. There might be something that was not there before. Interesting.

 

Sherlock recognized his chance now and took off his coat and jacket, shoes, then assumed a supine position on the couch. John put a kettle on to boil and continued his musing.

“That was a superb choice in cases, Sherlock. I haven’t had that much fun since before…” he trailed off.

“Mm,” Sherlock replied non-commitally. He understood to what John referred but was busy plotting; unbutton his shirt first? Yes, he thought so. John finished pouring their tea and entered the living room, placing both cups on the side table. “Did you say something?”

“No, I was just agreeing; my choice in cases _is_ superb.” With a flourish, he accentuated the way his fingers touched the top button on his shirt and eased it out from the confines of the hole. He did this slowly, gauging to see when John would look, when he might catch sight of the performance. The second button popped free exposing more of the long column of his throat and that is when John’s attention zeroed in on his flatmate.

“Right. You do have a knack for it.” He said, in a semi-parched voice. He took his seat and grabbed that morning’s paper, clearly only pretending to read it. Sherlock continued his slow tease, each button sliding through the hole and the two sides of his shirt falling farther apart, revealing his pale chest. John’s eyes were most definitely darting between the paper and Sherlock and he shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, rumpled the paper in front of his face. Soon enough, Sherlock’s shirt was wide open and he let each side fall to the couch. He closed his eyes, pretending to doze off and John once again cleared this throat. Sherlock could hear him put the paper down, take a sip of tea, stand, stoke the fire.

“Bit warm in here," Sherlock said, lifting slightly to remove his shirt in its entirety, still not making any eye contact with John. He then let his fingers rove down the expanse of his chest and abdomen, then come to rest on his belt buckle. Sneaking a quick peek, he saw that John was in fact staring. Sherlock had him hooked, he knew. He relished in the fact that John was looking, HAD to look. This only spurred Sherlock to continue, deciding that he very much liked to be the object of John's gaze. Sherlock let his fingers flit over the silver buckle, then casually undid it, yanking one side of the belt and taking it off, unceremoniously dropping it to the floor.

“Sherlock? What in God’s name are you doing?” John finally broke the silence. His voice was tight, a little higher than normal.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He tried to sound as innocent as possible, of course, as his deft fingers worked open the button and zipper on his pants. “It’s just a tad hot in here, is all.” He removed them as well, resuming his position on the couch.

“It isn’t all that hot; I was positively frozen out there.” John indicated the outside world.

“Must just be me then.” Sherlock replied, reaching down and removing his socks then, as he leaned back, ran a finger under the waistband of his underwear. He then looked directly at John, whose mouth was visibly gaping. Their gazes met and there was an unmistakable smoldering in John’s eyes. Sherlock took a moment to catalogue his reaction as well. He _was_ warm but not from the fire. And his transport betrayed him ever so slightly as his cock had gone semi-hard just from watching John’s reactions.

“Well, this has been entirely exhausting and I must really be off to bed.” He said, standing and making for his room. He dawdled a bit to see if John had taken the bait; John had taken something: one, no two steps forward. He nervously bounced on his heels, either holding back or willing himself to stay put. There was a change in his facial features: a determination but also, a warring of emotions. Sherlock turned back towards the hall and heard the slide of feet forward and then felt a tangible heat behind him. John’s breath was coming in heavier pants and by feeling alone Sherlock knew John had raised his hands. They were on his back then, softly, barely touching, roaming down, pressing in. There in the doorway, Sherlock mentally tallied how long the tease had lasted, how long it took to break John Watson. Six minutes, eighteen seconds.


	2. p < 0.05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tables are turned as John reacts in the opposite way Sherlock expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a short chapter but I wanted to get it posted

Abruptly, John’s tender touch upon Sherlock’s lower back became a forceful shove, one of his arms being bent backwards and used as leverage to propel them both into Sherlock’s room. John thrust him, turned him around, and forcefully backed him against the door. The slam echoed and brought their awareness to the fact that this was actually happening.  
John leveled his eyes on the other man, a predatory look as John held Sherlock firmly between himself and the door.

“You started this, but I’m going to finish it.”  
Sherlock looked absolutely startled, befuddled as John came within mere inches of his face, their lips dangerously close together.  
“John, I…”  
“No, I know exactly what you were doing; this was an experiment. Well, I would say it’s been successful.” John brought his body flush with Sherlock’s, his obvious arousal pressing into his leg, hard and insistent. John was both angry and turned on; somewhere between fuck you and I’m going to fuck you.

But slow, this had to be slow. As much time as John spent thinking this would never happen, he had to banish that doubt from his mind because it was and finally – finally – he wasn’t going to waste time with the protestations. Who cared if they were or were not a couple? If he was or was not gay? John felt like if this didn’t happen now he’d break in two; emotions welled inside him, along with desire.

It was tentative at first, the way John’s lips brushed against Sherlock’s mouth, then it became something else entirely, needy and desperate and John wanted to make this man unravel beneath him. It was a bruising kiss, desperate, rushed, tinged with hunger but also, fear on Sherlock’s part. He held back ever so slightly.

But John had always felt a certain… dominance in their relationship. Sherlock claimed that John was an idiot but when it came to this, John definitely had more insight. From the look on his face he couldn’t tell if Sherlock was more in a state of mental arrest or quickly and unsuccessfully deducing the situation into control. He had to assess him, make sure that nothing was actually wrong

“Sherlock? Tell me… is this ok?”

  
“I… John you know this is…I guess I…never meant for it to even...” He hemmed and hawed in the way Sherlock tended to do when his brain was overprocessing, when he was slipping slowly into that part of his psyche where it was only him and his high level thought process.

He finally spat out and rushed together, “Well I never figured you’d do anything about it.”

John searched the other man’s features and finally locked on his eyes, his pupils were blown wide.

“Oh Sherlock, how many years have you known me? I always do what I want.”

Sherlock had pushed him and pushed him and that little show out in the living room was… God. The man knew exactly how to twist him to bring him to his knees In fact, his knees were the next place he was going.  
John slid down Sherlock’s body until he was eye level with his crotch. Interesting though; this reaction. John always sort of thought of Sherlock as sexless even though he’d imagined scenario after scenario between them. They had shared so many meaningful gazes and tender moments… it was still sort of a surprise that as he pushed the heel of his hand to Sherlock’s groin, he elicited a slight moan of enjoyment. His cock strained against his pants and John found a sick pleasure in teasing him like this. It was intriguing just how fervently Sherlock reacted, pressing his hips greedily into John’s hand, breathing in uneven puffs and pants.

“Please John…” his baritone begged, deeper than usual. Which in turn made John want him even more. That sexy voice, asking for more? Yes, dear God, yes.


End file.
